Different strokes for different folks, but if I stuttered when I spoke, there is a reason why I wrote, and if you think that I'm a joke, then stroke me, stroke me...

Empirical lyrically virile and viral a warrior reborn like he's gone out of style,

a rage unabated both non-syncopated and internal/external no meter's abated!

You wanted an anthem?

You wanted a cause?

You wanted a figure to even the odds?

You thought I was kidding

but now you're admitting that

I am the chosen whose broken the clause!

Rising in status, my main apparatus, the attitude: platitudes lack the finesse!

I'm searching for perfect not anything less!


I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!

Melding the milieus of millions and millions of masses who clash for the chance for the cash,

when all that was needed was truth to believe in, significance outed, you puppet let's dance!

No bragging, no lagging, and no more sandbagging, the hustle is over, your tussle is weak!

For soon we will savor the end of your flavor, fifteen minutes over, your outlook is bleak.

I'm nobody's pigeon hole, nobody's fool, I've seen quite my share of arrogant tools,

but here are the statements that lead me to greatness:

love me or hate me, go on instigate me, ignore me and gasp when you hear of my rule!

I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!

Now join me in raising a fist to the sky,

and pound upon pressure to powers that lie.

Make diamonds of rhyme-ends and squelter your silence

to pierce through the casket that left us so quiet.

Their reign is run dry, and nobody buys it, let'***** this at home so they cannot supply it.

Prepare the artillery pack in your fire, you're gonna need it , if the bars get any higher,

now hear from the jokee, I dare you provoke me, you still talking ****? well stroke me, stroke me.

I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!

**I'm willing to take it for me and for you, THERE'S NO ******* LIMIT TO WHAT WE CAN DO!

from the eye wall
thoughts of imminent rain
banked clouds assemble
black and ominous
with saturated breath
will not be denied
their time to rage
against the numbness
of each little death

barometers fall
coastal fortification
futile sandbagging
forlorn gestures
against the flood
a tropical depression
jet-streaming blue
wild moon tide
to desolate shore

precipitation
gray accomplice
faithful torrent
stratified walls erode
sodden wood, bone
unbalanced homes
collapse gracelessly
no match for gravity
or the merciless sea

The river had been rising.
It is now close to flood stage.
There's  a need for sandbaggers.
Workers of most every age.

With the water pipes breaking,
With weather that's near zero,
The work will be bone chilling,
What people will want to go?

Some kids had a lucky hat.
Snowmen, they started to make.
Sandbagging was sure in need.
Sandbags would be no mistake.

Though snowmen could not throw bags,
Or they would be washed away.
They switched with those filling bags,
More men could throw bags that way.

Where the bags were being filled,
It was near twenty below,
And also a cold wind chill ,
And a blizzard spewing snow.

When they passed out free coffee,
Snowmen said that's very nice.
If we were to drink coffee,
We would soon be turned to ice.

With ease we'll take this weather.
Brave, you humans sure must be.
We're glad to be of some help.
How frozen you are we see.

He took off his jacket, and he looked... smaller than I could ever have thought him to have been. All of a sudden, the impenetrable guise of the pillar I had come to know and resent had disappeared…no crumbled.
Crumbled and hunched over like a pillar of sandstone with no weight to bear down on his shoulders.
It looked like I had chipped and chipped away at a block of marble hoping to find a Greek god’s statue. An ode to greater men before my time but I must have gone too far.
Excavated too deep because I found rock and rubble pouring out of the crevice I had made. And now there he was, no longer a mass of stone barreling forward to a dream or an ideal, not a weeping stoic I hoped I could fix but a sandbag that I had slit open and now its contents lay there. Sagging over itself in the shape of a human

I wanted you the way that
January leaves need the
snow to water out
their dry, cracked
veins

but now you're in my
blood, the way that
an infection crawls
into an open wound,
plants it's seeds and
grows there

every lungful of
air is mixed with
sand, sticking like
dust to the back of
my throat

sandbagging
our voices, forcing them
to be content with
the odd restless
word that slips
through our lips
whilst we're sleeping

silence is our
live in and she
runs a tight ship

tight enough
to keeps us touching
no matter how hard
our limbs try to fight
their way to
freedom